


Cat’s in the Cradle

by funnygirlthatbelle13



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Autistic Caleb Widogast, Child Abuse, Fantasy Racism, Gen, Whipping, blumenkrew, death of a family member
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnygirlthatbelle13/pseuds/funnygirlthatbelle13
Summary: The cat’s cradle wasn’t always a spell component. It has been many things over the years: an accommodation, a source of ridicule, a kind gesture, and ultimately, a show of strength.AKA: Caleb’s life as told through the cat’s cradle from the POV of some of the most important people in his life.





	Cat’s in the Cradle

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this.... happened. Honestly, this started off because of this post: https://cranesofibycus.tumblr.com/post/188317446908/do-you-think-they-played-cats-cradle-at-the   
and only got crazier from there.

Una set aside the dough she’d been kneading, gently tossing a cloth over it as she chanced a chance at her son. The eight-year-old’s head was buried in a book of fairytales as he stroked the orange cat beside him. He and Frumpkin were sitting close to the fireplace, and Una was tempted to join them. But she stood back, watching her son’s hands working their way through the cat’s fur.

Those hands had gotten him in trouble at school lately. Well, trouble was a strong word. The schoolmaster, a firm but kind man named Johann, had approached her in the market just two days before.

“I hope you are well, Frau Ermendrud,” he’d said, tipping his hat to her.

“Hello, Lehrer Weber, yes, I’m quite well thank you. How is your wife?”

“She is well. Frau Ermendrud, I was hoping to speak to you for a moment about Bren.”

He then had explained to her the situation in the schoolhouse. That Bren was bright, brighter than any child his age had the right to be. But he was fidgety, or else daydreaming. Whenever he was called on, he would give the correct answer, so it did not seem fair to punish him. But other students were acting out, squirming and fidgeting and staring off into the distance, defending themselves by saying that if Bren wasn’t punished, they shouldn’t be either. But these children were not as bright, and they truly were not learning. 

“I do not want to punish Bren,” he’d said eventually, “But I need his… fidgets to be controlled.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she had told him, and they had parted ways.

Since that interaction, Una had kept a close eye on her son’s hands. And they were almost constantly in motion. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how she had never noticed it before. The only excuse that came to mind was that even when Leofric was home, running their small farm was long, hard work. 

But now she had noticed and had been struggling to come up with a solution. As she grabbed an onion to chop, she noticed some twine sitting on the table. Now that might be worth a try. Glancing over and seeing that Bren was still occupied by the book Frau Schulz had lent to him. Smiling to herself, she prepared the string like she had done many times as a child. Once she was sure it was ready, she looked back at her son, who was all but using the cat as a pillow.

“Bren, come here, Schatz,” she called, “I want to show you something,”

“Yes, Mutti!” he said eagerly, shutting the book immediately and running across the room to meet her. 

“Sit down, I want to show you a game your Tante and I used to play,” she said. As much as Bren loved herself and Leofric, he absolutely adored her sister. And who could blame him? Annika was one of the few people in Blumenthal who had traveled, and her songs enchanted all those who heard them. 

“A game where you’re sitting down?” he asked, though he pulled up a far-too big chair. 

“Ja, it’s called the cat’s cradle.”

“A cat’s cradle? Frumpkin, come here and watch!” 

The cat glanced up from her spot from the fireplace, staring at the little boy for a moment before sticking her leg up and beginning to lick. 

Una signed and picked up the string.

“Liebling, watch this.”

And she began to do the old motions of the game as if it had only been yesterday when she’d last played. Bren was a captive audience, bouncing eagerly in his seat, hands flapping as he watched her twist the string from one shape into the next. 

“Can I try? Can I try, Mutti? Please?”

She laughed. 

“Of course, Schatz. Here, let me make a smaller one for you so you don’t get tangled.” 

They spent the next hour or so like that, Una guiding him through each step, modeling the proper technique as Bren followed along. By the time he went to bed that night, he was moving from step to step as if he’d been playing in her womb. 

****

Astrid climbed down the cottage steps to find that Bren and Eodwulf had beaten her to breakfast. Every time she saw that table magically filled with food, she couldn’t help but grin. At home, she’d had to help her mother with the cooking, but here?

“Morning, Arschlöcher,” she greeted, “Am I on time?”

“Barely,” Bren said in Common. Teacher’s pet; using Common even when Master Ikithon wasn’t around. “You only beat him by one minute.”

The fun of having a friend with a perfect memory who always knew what time it was; they could figure things out to the second. 

She stuck her tongue out at him as she sat down next to Eodwulf, who laughed through his mouth full of sausage.

“Pace yourself, Eodwulf,” the familiar voice of their new teacher rang from the front door, “We do not want you to bulk up in the wrong way, do we?”

“Yes, Master Ikithon,” Eodwulf mumbled as Master Ikithon swept into the room in maroon robes.

“Bren, you have a letter from home.”

“Danke- I mean, thank you, Master Ikithon.”

He held the letter aloft for a moment, as if he was considering if the transgression deserved punishment, before smiling and handing Bren the letter.

It took Astrid all that she had not to bounce in her seat with excitement. None of them had gotten a letter since they had started to come out to train with Master Ikithon, so she was excited to hear about home. But knowing that her curiosity would most likely get her in trouble, she instead focused on placing an egg and some toast on her plate. But when she glanced up to ask for someone to pass the potatoes, she saw the crestfallen expression that had taken over Bren’s face.

“What’s wrong, Bren?” Eodwulf asked, barely beating her to it. 

“My… my aunt Annika died. Goblins,” he muttered.

Well, that was not the sort of news she had been hoping for. Astrid felt her jaw drop slightly. Everyone in Blumenthal knew Annika Müller, and everyone loved her too. She was the greatest performer the town had ever seen. Was. 

“Oh, Bren, I’m so sorry,” she said. Eodwulf pulled him into a side hug, ruffling Bren’s bright orange hair as he did so. Master Ikithon smiled in a sympathetic sort of way.

“It’s a pity to have this happen when it has. I promise I will try to expedite my teachings as much as I can so you can be home for her funeral, Bren, but much of that depends on your performance.”

“Yes, Master Ikithon,” Bren muttered dully, “Thank you, Master Ikithon.”

They moved on with their day as usual. Or, at least, they tried to. Astrid noticed that, as Master Ikithon was explaining the advantages of using a wand over a component pouch or other arcane focus, Bren wasn’t present. Well, physically, he was there, but mentally? He had been staring at the same spot on the chalkboard for the past ten minutes. Evidently, Master Ikithon had noticed too, because he suddenly turned and smacked Bren’s desk.

“Stay alert, boy! What did I just say?”

“That the-the cost of having to buy a wand is a better investment than a component pouch since it is easier to carry around undetected?”

Master Ikithon glared at Bren, and Astrid couldn’t help the faint streak of pride at her friend’s success. Was it so wrong to enjoy the mighty archmage be wrong, just this once?

“Bren, you must be alert at all times. Constant vigilance can be the difference between life and death when you are out there, defending the Empire.”

“I’m sorry, Master Ikithon,” Bren said, “But I think I have an idea that will help me focus.” 

He bent over, and she and Eodwulf both watched curiously as Bren pulled the lace out from one of his boots and tied it into a loop. Astrid smirked at Eodwulf, who was grinning. 

“What is this?” Master Ikithon asked, looking thoroughly unamused. She and Eodwulf dropped their smiles, but Bren didn’t seem to notice.

“The cat’s cradle. It’s something I have been taught to help me focus when I am restless, to help keep my hands busy so my mind can do what it needs to.” 

Though he said nothing, Astrid could see the anger boiling in Master Ikithon’s eyes.

“No,” he said coldly, before snatching the lace from Bren’s hand and turning back to the chalkboard. 

Later, at the supper table, when the three of them got up to leave, Master Ikithon held up his hand. Instantly, they all froze. Astrid’s brain raced through possibilities of what was next.

“Bren, stay. You two may leave.”

She glanced at Bren, whose fingers were moving of their own accord again before striding to the stairs, dragging Eodwulf with her. 

She stayed up that night, reading a dry tome on the history of the Crick’s as she waited to hear the sound of Bren coming up to bed. When she eventually did hear footsteps, long after the sun had set, she scurried to the door and opened it. 

Bren was standing there, in the hallway, looking exhausted. Tracks where tears had run down his face were still visible. He was rubbing his back, and wincing, too.

“What happened?” she whispered, so, so quietly so as not to get caught.

“He-he whipped me,” Bren whispered even softer, so that she could barely hear him. 

“How could he-let me see.”

She ushered him into her room, grateful for the basin of water and bandages.

“Oh, Bren,” she whispered, “Oh, poor Bren.”

“No,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “I did not-I have to be stronger. People can show weakness, but we must be better than people, remember? Just… help me clean this up.” 

Astrid nodded, wondering to herself how anybody could ever be so cruel.

****

Jester stretched as she got off her horse. She had gotten used to Caleb being able to teleport them places, and traveling the normal way sucked in comparison. She glanced around at her friends, quietly observing each of them as they settled into Trostenwald. 

Fjord was already inside the Nestled Nook Inn, and she could barely see him through the window chatting with Yorda. Caduceus was whispering something she couldn’t hear to his horse, smiling as he chatted with her. Beau was doing some sort of complicated stretch on the side of the inn that looked like it hurt, but Beau was smiling so it couldn’t be too bad. Nott was eyeing passersby, checking them up and down for interesting trinkets. And Caleb… Caleb was staring off into the distance, wrapping and unwrapping his silver wire from around his hand. Red marks were starting to show on his skin, and she suspected that he had probably been doing that while they were riding.

“Cay-leb, if you keep doing that, you’re gonna cut off your circulation to your hands, and that would be pretty shitty.” 

Caleb perked up like a deer as his eyes darted around, eventually landing on her. 

“Oh, it is… a bad habit, I suppose. But I need to keep my hands busy sometimes.”

He was avoiding looking at her, instead staring at his own feet.

“Well, that’s okay, but maybe you should try something that isn’t gonna hurt you. Like knitting!”

Caleb looked up at her, his cheeks a light shade of pink as he chuckled.

“I, uh, do not think I’m quite the type. At least… I do not think I would feel comfortable to do it publicly.” 

“Well…” she said, thinking as she spoke, “Maybe something else with string. You know what’s fun? There’s this game my momma taught me called cat’s cradle and it’s kinda tricky but super fun once you get the hang of it!”

Jester did her best to ignore the pang in her heart as she mentioned her momma, instead choosing to focus on the strange, bittersweet expression on Caleb’s face.

“I… it has been a long time since I have played,” he mumbled, “I doubt I will remember. It’s been over twenty years since my mother taught me.” 

“I can show you, silly!” she said with a giggle, “You know, they say it’s like riding a horse: once you know how, you never forget.” 

Caleb smiled at her, looking directly into her eyes. It wasn’t nearly as rare as it once had been, but knowing that she was the reason he was smiling still felt like an extra special thing. 

“Okay,” he said, “If you don’t mind, I- this old dog will try and relearn his tricks.”

She grinned at him as Fjord popped out of the Nestled Nook, already planning on finding some super pretty string for him to use.

****

Beau was whaling on this giant frog fuck when all these little frog fucks started coming at them, and fuck-this was not gonna be an easy fight. The big guy was resistant to fire, and they were surrounded by things that fed off of people using magic. She yelled this information out to the rest of the group behind her, making sure to catch Caleb’s eye as she mentioned that fire wouldn’t work on this guy. Hopefully he’d figure out something nonmagical to do so those things didn’t try to feed off of him more than they already had. 

But she had barely finished talking when Caleb pulled a… cat’s cradle, of all things, out of one of his many pockets. Sure, she had seen him playing with that string Jester had gotten him a lot lately, but it had just seemed like a way to keep his hands busy. But now she watched in terror and delight as he slammed it to the ground and fire sprung in lines leading directly to their enemies. The frogs all burst into giant columns of flame, some dying instantly. 

“Fuck, that’s cool,” she muttered as the big guy burnt just a bit.

Note to self, she thought, the weirder and innocent seeming the spell component, the more Caleb can fuck you up with it.

She glanced back, and even with the swarm approaching, Caleb was still holding onto his cat’s cradle and smiling. It was a look she had only seen a couple times before: one that said: “I’m fucking reclaiming that shit. You don’t own me.” 

That was a pretty cool look to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that’s that! I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please take a moment to leave kudos and/or tell me what you thought. It really makes all the difference!


End file.
